


Race Into It

by crossroadrain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Car Racing, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, M/M, Race, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:32:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadrain/pseuds/crossroadrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John races illegaly to pay his debts and Sherlock is casually getting himself into trouble the British way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quite Shakespearеan

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, fellow writers, Sherlock fans and hopefully, potential readers,
> 
> This is my first fanfic in years and it is not Beta'd, nor britpicked.  
> I am very sorry for any mistakes and blurred details. Criticism is essential and important so drink up and spill it out.

So let me get this clear: you don’t get to be one of the ‘big ones’ without driving your way into it. John Watson knew that from the first time he ever got behind the wheel and drove the roads of dear old England.

He is not a professional driver; he is never going to be one. What he is is a bad gambler with debt high as the Burj Khalifa. And because injured ex-army doctors, needing their adrenaline as air, isn’t good for much, he drove and he drove fast and reckless and with the seat belt on because he may be reckless but he wasn’t an idiot.

Summed up his life was pretty boring, even with the car that always magically needed more work and the locum in the clinic.

He didn’t really have many friends and most of these “friends” were Sarah’s anyway. He didn’t like them too much although they loved his jumper clad, nice, simple self – the common John who always tried to help and drank his tea the very British way he liked it.

He also kind of liked this life too – he could use some better friends but never mind that, he liked Sarah enough to settle for her, he got to win a few seconds and a first place in the races and that paid part of the money he owned. It was all fine as long as he could continue having both Sarah and the driving separately.

She was death scared of the races though and did in fact put an ultimatum – her or the driving and John truly tried, he fucking did. For a month it was okay, he was okay, but as the money stopped coming and the debt started to rise instead of decrease, things got bad and let’s say it that way – the common British John got pretty blue, in the very literal sense of the word. Not that he was afraid of a fight, he didn’t want to be in debt, nor did he want the danger dangling over Sarah’s head. He got back, started paying again and against his entire moral, he lied his guts to her.

Thing with John is the driving wasn’t the problem. The navigator was – because Mike tried and failed almost every time when it went down to reacting fast and reacting accordingly. To start wining John needed a good navigator and when he finally gathered the courage to tell Mike that he wasn’t the best choice for the job, Stamford almost hugged him in relief.

It is not a highly accustomed practice that a driver keeps his or hers navigator for long. _You change navigators all the time in your career_ , that’s what Mike told him and it was okay with John; he did appreciate Stamford much more as an engineer than co-driver.

Problem was having no one else to take his place. Some drivers kept the same co-driver for their whole career – and this is not the case, as you see; some kept changing navigators according their affairs – and this wasn’t a solution either as John did appreciate Sarah and he was old enough (or he wasn’t yet, as Mike supplied unhelpfully) not to be tempted by the idea of having either one or several much younger girlfriends, taking up the place.

The rally itself was a big enough lie to tell to Sarah every week and he didn’t need a female navigator to make it worse. No. John Watson has decided and it was a good decision, although hard to comply. Especially as most of the attendees at the races were young and reckless and went mostly just for entertainment.

“I need help” said John in the early evening one Friday. It was race night tonight and he was driving solo.

Mike shook his head tiredly, “Everyone does today,” and he slid himself for underneath the car. He was making final changes before the race as John couldn’t take care of the car since he promised Sarah no more racing or going over the speed lime what so ever. “Why don’t you try and take care of your own problems some day? ‘I need a higher grade, professor’, ‘I need a different assignment’, ‘I need a fresh cadaver, Stamford’, if you even say you need me to navigate tonight I swear I am going to send that cadaver to your address.”

“Who in their right mind would want a cadaver? Never mind that, but _sent home_ are you kidding?”

A deep, rumbling voice sounded behind him and John turned his head.

“Most would say I am way astray of the _right human_ mind, doctor” remarked the said voice. It apparently belonged to a very tall, very pale man with quite the Shakespearean dramatic look. He wore a mop of curly black hair and the silky swirls fell over shark cheekbones and even sharper blue-green-gray eyes, the color of which did in fact made John rethink his lack of knowledge of nuances that Sarah always emphasized.

“Sorry, have we me–“

“No, we haven’t met before.”

“Sherlock, leave the poor man alone” chided Mike as he got up and cleaned his hands. “I’ll bring you the paper right away. Try not to scare John out of his mind ‘till I’m back, okay?”

“Yes, fine. Please, hurry now. Some of us have thing to do, places to be.”

Mike snorted and shook his head tiredly, then went back to the house to grab whatever he needed to give to this Sherlock man. He did tend to take his time so John leaned his back against the car and looked Sherlock over.

“So, I am a doctor, huh?”

“Are you not?”Sherlock raised an eyebrow. His eyes moved over John again, pinning him in place and John didn’t dare move. The cold stare made his blood freeze and that was not a nice thing. He suddenly felt very itchy and nervous. “What does an ex-army doctor have to do with the races downtown?”

“Are you sure you don’t know me?”

“I don’t _know_ you; I simply observe what I can about you.”

“That’s an amazing skill-set!” John exclaimed happily. He didn’t know why he was exited but he was. This was the first interesting meeting he has had in quite a while, so he wasn’t surprised about the excitement that burned his mind. Sherlock was interesting and he wasn’t going on about self-diagnosed osteoporosis and he wasn’t a teenager with herpes, and he wasn’t nagging John about drapes or fussing about how bad his cooking was. No, this Sherlock here talked about something that wasn’t work and that wasn’t boring, and John wanted to hear a little bit more. “I mean, if it is for real, of course” he smiled nicely. “You may just be a lucky idiot.”

“I observed you and by combining information, I deduced what I can about your past and present – sans, you were in the army and you were a doctor, you obviously have some injuries from which you are still recovering. So, you were injured ergo invalided back home. Can’t do much now, so… what? Locum at a hospital?”

“Amazing,” John breathed again, stupidly proud to have caught someone’s attention.

“Really? Do you think so?”

So when Sherlock lit up, suddenly very, very delighted by John’s comment, the doctor knew he wasn’t giving him anything more unless Sherlock gave him some too. No innuendo applied.

“I can’t uphold a verdict until you tell me how you do it.”

Sherlock curled his lip with a derisive snort. “I already did. Really, how small is your brain?”

“Well, the average human brain is about 3 pounds, smarty pants, that’s how.” John smiled at him with an ironic wink. Sherlock looked scandalized and didn’t even try to black his face as John wasn’t finished annoying him and he perfectly knew it. “Now, I’ll give you what you want, if you tell me how.”

“I don’t need you to praise me” said Sherlock evenly. He even managed to sound offended and that really impressed John as he could still see the faint excitement in the man’s posture and face.

“Oh, piss off” John said as he got around Sherlock to take the keys for the car and his jacket.

“Did he try to deduce you?” Mike’s voice boomed in the tight space of the garage (with Sherlock’s offended “Try?!” in the background) before John could laugh and beg the stranger to explain how he knew so much. “He likes to do it to poor sods like us, you know. He is darn good at whatever it is, but it can sting sometimes.”

“Deduction?” the doctor asked curiously, watching as Sherlock accepted a box of files from Mike without taking his eyes off John. “Explain.”

“No. Stick to the ‘piss off’ – it is more like it.” Sherlock nodded to Mike, which seemed a bigger thank-you-like gesture than Stamford had ever received because he was struck speechless at it.

And just like that, Sherlock was off, out of the garage and wherever. John exchanged glances with Mike, who raised his shoulders unhelpfully.

“He wanders in Bart’s from time to time. No idea what his thing is exactly. But he is a nice enough bloke, if you never converse with him. And never listen to him too. I’ve heard he works with NSY, the files – for a case, he says.”

“And you just give them to him?”

“He did find tell me when Annabel cheated on me” Mike said, tilting his head over his shoulder. “I kind of owned him one.”

With that they said their goodbyes and John drove off. It wasn’t far down the road when he saw a man sitting on the curb and had to make a turn off the road. Laughing to himself, he opened the window on the passenger side and leaned forward over the seat. “Are you going to tell me how did you know or not?”

Sherlock got up from the curb and leant over the window, mimicking John’s pose. “Even you have to know that this looks incredibly wrong,” he said, smiling with mischief.

“You are nervous someone might mistake you for a prostitute? No way.”

Sherlock snorted and opened the door. The file box flew over to the back seat, and Sherlock took the passenger one. “You’ll need to go over the speed limit if we are ever going to make it in time.”


	2. Eloquently said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock always knows where trouble sleeps and John is typically excited for being drawn into life-threatening experiences.

“Where are you driving tonight?” Sherlock asked, lounging on the passenger seat like a big Cheshire cat. “There is a high-profile rally on Moran’s terrain in three hours.”

John laughed giddily and shook his head. “It is pretty obvious where I am going with this car, Mr.”

“Yes, yes, I already know you are racing. Thing is – where? There are fifteen different locations for illegal racing in London tonight.”

“How do you…” John awed in amazement and Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes, annoyed out of his rudeness.

“Let’s say I have experience in the field” he said before John could finish his question. “You should go to Moran. I know the layout as the back of my hand. You’ll only have to do as I say and I can guarantee you both the win and the full fee.”

“You don’t want any of the money?” Sherlock only shook his head and John mirrored him for an entirely different reason. “And how do you know I am good enough driver to get us through Moran’s race in one piece?”

“Well, you didn’t back down when I told you to go there – in fact, you are driving in his direction right now.”

“That’s some reasoning” John joked but judging by Sherlock’s face he didn’t find it too funny. The man was actually frowning and the sour look on his face was only deepening before John puffed the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and offered tentatively, “I do still think you are amazing with you ‘knowing stuff you shouldn’t know’ thing.”

Sherlock looked at him sideways and smiled just a little.

“The same thing you didn’t explain to me” John added quieter. He was smiling too, more brightly and openly than Sherlock. “We do have ten or so minutes more till we are there.”

“No.” Sherlock cut him off lightly. Now the sneaky thing was smiling, he was positively grinning actually. And that really annoyed John for some reason, mostly because he wanted to look at him – look at him properly – so he could remember him smiling like that: wide and sinful and sweet.

He pulled over and turned to Sherlock hastily. “Are you sure about Moran?” John didn’t trust himself enough to keep driving while having this conversation. “It is a real risk there on that layout, you know. Absolutely fucking real chance that we fuck up real bad and blow up in the air.”

“Eloquently said, John” Sherlock noted with a smug smile. “But I am familiar with the road and the different traps it ensures. It is not really that hard to drive to the other side. There are tell-tails if you have a navigator good enough, which you know have. So where is the problem?” He turned in his seat to look at John and fixed him with a hard stare. “You don’t have much reason to trust me but you desperately need the money and out of the races. Moran’s a good chance to make a big step in the desired direction.”

With that Sherlock had him and John pulled back on the road and drove to Moran’s estate. It was quite big private property terrain and within the encompassing fence the racing layout was built. At the start there was a small hill on top of which stood the control center for the whole road. To get there John had to push past the gathering groups of people around the hill, heading straight for the shed on top. It was tinder, rotting building in the midst of a dozen or so cars, parked conveniently so no one could access unnoticed.

The doctor sneaked between the vehicles, admiring the sound of running engines in his ears and the buzz of tens of voices mere meters away. They weren’t especially interesting voices; they weren’t like Sherlock’s voice: deep and authoritative – and… and other adjectives that John’s mind was too busy fantasizing about Sherlock to think of.

And that thought reminded him – fucking hell Sherlock was actually still around. He wasn’t bored of John and thank god, because John was absolutely bored of his life and he needed something interesting and dangerous, something just like Sherlock. And Sherlock _was_ still there; technically at least. He was ‘guarding’ the doctor’s car while he went to register.

Said register was the said shed. Some guy Moran was in charge and for a car to be in the rally, you needed go through him first. John knocked on the door. He knew the drill after several tries in the rally and he was desperately trying to stay calm and not shiver with excitement (he wasn’t sure if it was for going for the challenge with Sherlock or for the high speed chase he was about to dive in).

“John Watson” he announced went Mr. Moran invited him inside.

“Watson?” he asked, rising a brow and smiling knowingly. Moran was tall muscular man with military haircut and tight fitting clothing – possibly the absolute cliché, by John’s standards at least but come to think of it, he was the least hateful one of his little ensemble of co-workers.

Once or twice John has met some of his ‘colleagues’ when he registered and they were all smartly dressed scornful shits. Not that Moran was nice or anything. He was in fact really quiet and when he spoke it was either to confirm, ridicule or threaten someone or something. Come to think of it, John sympathized with him for that they both were obviously ex-military, but weren’t it for the money he wouldn’t have come back to the rally. “You haven’t been around lately.” Moran wasn’t looking at him when he spoke. Instead, he was rummaging through a metal drawer on the desk by the south wall. It was on the same wall where the keys for the rally’s layout were hanging.

The layout was pretty amazing actually. It wasn’t just any road race John had been to. Moran’s rallies always brought the best on and gave amazing money. Of course, the road had a preliminary set up and there always was the off-chance for a driver to go through a mine and blow up, but the rules were explicitly written in the non-disclosure agreement every driver signed before being handled the key for his or hers gate.

You can die in this.

You always can actually, difference from normal rallies was that maybe on Moran’s terrain there were mines and traps and some nasty turns and occasionally yes, someone bursts into flames but fuck this. John was excited and really, really hoped that Sherlock knew what he was talking about saying “I know this layout as I know the back of my hand” and it wasn’t some bad, bad, bad joke.

He wasn’t going to make it out alone (with Mike they had tried a couple of times and after a close call the second time John thought he would never return to this race again) but Sherlock did seem like a good enough co-pilot – especially stating that he indeed had experience on the road. John hoped he didn’t lie but then again even if he was going out of this life tonight, John did prefer to do it in the company of Sherlock. And it didn’t even matter that he barely knew the man. He trusted him – and apparently, he trusted him with his life. For whatever idiotic reason that may have been.


	3. The science of racing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That thing in his trousers wasn’t his dignity. John was apparently very happy to see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, they are racing now and Sherlock may have a wrong impression of John but I am not exploring the "I'm not gay" thing because I am just too tired of it. Still, things are not too explicit or graphic yet. They know each other only for a day, after all.  
> Thank you if there in the distance someone is reading this and I hope you enjoy!

The fifth and last gate was the only one left for John when he signed up and received his key. He got back just in time as Sherlock was growing more impatient by the minute and by now he was like a thunder cloud, pacing before the car like an agitated lion.

“Well, you took your time,” he retorted when he saw John approaching. The soldier looked at him properly for the first time since they met. Yes, he saw the obvious but you can hardly miss his striking cheekbones or his hair, or god forbid, his great Belstaff coat, fluttering dramatically around him. Now John properly looked at him and frowned and his stomach gurgled in displeasure. He needed to eat more, much more. Sherlock was so skinny it was on the verge of unhealthy. John pursed his lips and told him. “You are impossibly thin!”

“You stared at my legs and chest for five minutes and ‘skinny’ is all you could come up with?” Sherlock retorted, simply shocked by John’s ordinarily working mind. He shook his head, his eyes gleaming and a mischievous grin plastered on his face. “I hoped you’d go a little deeper, but that _is_ accurate so we may assume that you did well.”

John laughed happily. His hands itched to sneak under that great coat and feel how thin exactly Sherlock was (and also feel his elegant muscles and warm skin, but hush). He wondered if he could count his ribs, and why Sherlock did was so annoyingly bony. The soldier didn’t really know why he was annoyed by the lack of meat on Sherlock’s bones but a grabbing purchase was sexy, impossibly sexy, especially when combined with healthy, impossibly smart Sherlock. And John stopped this thought. He hasn’t met a man who he found attractive in a while and he also had a very real girlfriend, suspiciously missing from his mind at all times Sherlock was around him.

“This is taking too long” Sherlock cried.

“If you have experience in this, how come you don’t know there is quite the waiting before the start?”

“My former driver was always signed up in advance. We never waited.”

“Sorry, mate, you should’ve stuck with him.” John said calmly, without looking at Sherlock. He was trying to gather all his energy and focus on the race. Although his tries didn’t last long as Sherlock’s pacing stopped abruptly and John had to look up. He was wearing a look of utter scare and defiance that threw John into deep confusion. “Hey?” He tugged at Sherlock’s arm and circled him, pulling his lithe body behind the car. “Hey, are you alright?”

“No, I…” Sherlock looked around with a wry smile, seeming painfully glued to his face. “If he was here tonight – and I knew he wouldn’t be when I suggested coming here – let’s just say, I wouldn’t be welcome.”

“Why?”

Sherlock looked uncomfortable for a moment and then looked behind John’s shoulder and smiled, visibly relieved. “They are about to blow the calling” he said. “I will just drag this silence a little bit longer.”

John gritted his teeth but couldn’t fight his wide, idiotic grin, happily spreading on his face. “Did you try to kill him?”

“A little bit?” Sherlock offered and John nodded content with the answer. “He was asking for it.”

“Did he hurt you?” John didn’t think he would get a positive answer when he asked. The question left his mouth mechanically. And then Sherlock looked quizzical but nodded slightly, averting his eyes in the opposite direction, staring into the large opening stage of the layout. “I still have no reason to kill you, right?”

Something in John started to boil and he licked his lips, reading himself.

“Well, I don’t know you, how can I know your reasoning?” John forced himself to smile a rueful smile and Sherlock winked at him, trying for lighthearted joking, none of them was really in the mood for. But they both forced it and it wasn’t that John didn’t itch to ask about Sherlock’s latest partner in crime; it was that he preferred to ask later – there was no way they could discuss this now; not on the start line and not on the verge of such danger. Emotional turmoil and mined racing tracks just weren’t up for mixing.

The siren rung out then and the buzzing of the voices raised suddenly, everyone excited and eager for the race to start. Dust filled the air and engines purred, tires whirring and the cars taking their places. Sherlock was good enough to go and unlock their gate, waving the magnetic key over the scanner, glancing over to their rivals.

“I know some of the cars,” he noted when he ducked back in the vehicle. His belt clicked loudly. “First Jones; he’s good but he never wins here – he can’t quite get the final turns and almost always flips the car after the tunnel. Usually gets scared around the second lap and then he loses control. Next Piper, and I don’t know what’s got into him to come back here, but you _should_ mind him. He is crazy and he has killed not once or twice on this layout. No idea who is at three’s but the forth is Anderson and he is a moron and can’t drive for shit. He’s here to impress his new mistress and he won’t succeed. Jones and Piper are going to get at each other’s throats pretty fast, they always do. We know nothing about 3 but I’ll gather what I can till the end of the first lap.”

“Wow.” John turned slightly and looked at him with wide eyes, his pupils delightfully dilated. “Is this what you do as navigator?”

“Yes,” Sherlock responded quite acutely. “What did you expect? Usually, Sebastian preferred the…”He cut himself short and looked at John, feeling his stomach churn and twist. No one ever wanted to hear about previous partners, John probably didn’t either. So he should keep it shut and well, do what he was here for. “Or do you prefer it _during_ the race?” Sherlock raised his eyebrow and John licked his lips nervously, completely at loss.

“I… I don’t know” the doctor admitted, smiling wide and happy just for having Sherlock in the car. “I have never had a proper co-pilot before. What do you usually do?”

Sherlock didn’t have time to answer as the siren went off and the cars roared, shooting down the road like bullets. The gates were opening one by one and the neon lights that signaled hot spots, dangers and other modifications of the layout started lighting up as the cars raced past them.

John handled the car with gentle but expert hand. They were moving fast, slipping through the other racers, still barely noticed. Sherlock was right of course, the Jones and Piper seemed to think it was just the two of them in the game and went into each other like metal wolves. The scraping metal and screeching tires wrung outside, dust filling the air and making it even harder to see in the dark. John wasn’t thinking properly; it was suddenly impossibly hard to think at all. He felt overwhelmed and a little scared. It was a moment of pure panic when the first metal wall appeared. He steered the wheel and evaded the metal monster with a fluent elegant move, turning the vehicle into the upcoming turn; accidently throwing Sherlock at the door.

“Few more walls and prongs ahead then we are in the open and the cool stuff begins,” Sherlock informed him, out of breath and grinning widely. “Tonight there is 17 mines, 15 mechanic prong constructions and 44 explosives.”

Sherlock’s voice worked as a sedative for his mind. John relaxed and moved his shoulders a bit, getting the tension out and breathing deep.

John sped down the track, he managed to go to the second and kept the spot till the first mines came into view and Sherlock urged him to fall back. It was a good idea as a few of the explosives blew up – the rule was that after being activated a mine blew up in 10 seconds so it wasn’t the very best of ideas to try and keep close to other drivers.

Piper’s car was in half after the first blowing mines and the driver capitulated before the car blew into flames, and another mine exploded, sending the 4th car, Anderson’s, crashing into them. Sherlock talked to him at any moment, giving directions and pouring deductions about the terrain keeping John’s mind on track.

The doctor steered the wheel but the car whirled on the road, activating a mine accidently. John was moving fast – hitting the gas and driving right between 1st and 3rd cars, and catching the lead. Three more mines activated in his track but he was driving furiously and Sherlock only casually told him that they blew Anderson in the air but he capitulated in time and was still alive.

“Right here,” Sherlock hushed. “Now go left, left, left and right! John!” The car hit the stones on the side of the road and they bumped, Sherlock hitting his head in the hood. “Go back here,” he instructed. “Go left now.”

“No, stop that” John hushed him and extended his hand to take Sherlock’s, keeping firm grip. “Talk about something else. Just talk.”

“Like what?” Sherlock didn’t really understand what John meant. No one usually wanted to hear _him_ talk, except for Sebastian and only while in the race when the deductions actually helped him drive safer that the other drivers.

They took a pointy turn and escaped a blowing mine just as number 3 activated it. The blow shook the whole car and John looked around to check if everything was in order. Checking Sherlock’s head with firm hand just to be sure.

“I don’t know, Sherlock,” and John took yet another pointed turn, crashing Sherlock into the door again. “What do you do for living? Mike said something about New Scotland Yard.”

“I am a consulting detective and yes, I help the police sometimes when they are out of their depth; which is always.” John laughed at that and Sherlock secretly smiled, pleased with himself.

“A consulting detective, what’s that?”

“It’s about observing the details and knowing what is you are looking at.” He risked a glance at John but he kept eyes on the road and expertly (and much more calmly) went around the mines and the explosives in the ground. “A wall will show in fifteen meters.”

“Never heard of that before” the doctor admitted.

“I invented the job. Wall, John! I am the only one in the world” Sherlock announced proudly, searching John’s face and body for signs of approval. And he found plenty in John’s wide smile, the relaxing of his arms and shoulders. His eyes gleamed when he turned briefly to Sherlock.

“This is how you know so much about me,” John said.

“You heard only the conclusions, not the deductions in the process.”

John felt giddy and excited and the adrenaline from the race had nothing to do with it. Having Sherlock opening up to him was thrilling and John wanted to savor every aspect of Sherlock that he was led close to. “I am more than sure they are quite impressive as well.”

“Would you like to hear them?” Sherlock asked and then, “Mines, John!” A mine blew up behind them and the car from slot 3 barely made it past the explosion behind them.

“Yes, please, I’ve been asking you to tell me the whole night.”

And Sherlock did – he didn’t go all in, he left out some details and refrained from stripping all of John but the deeper he dived, the wider John’s smile went. Sherlock felt flustered when he finally finished his monologue and John gaped at him, nodding in amazement.

“That’s fantastic! WOW!” He shook his head, left speechless. “You are amazing.” He was breathing short as he took the last turn, number 3 and 1 keeping close. He blocked them and didn’t let them overtake him all while looking at Sherlock. He was unable to take his eyes off. The more Sherlock talked, the deeper John sank. “I’d love see you do that to other people.”

“That’s not what people usually say.” Sherlock said, informing him casually that ten meters before the finish line laid a thick pronged line.

John let number 3 overtake him and neutralize the prongs (coming out on a car approaching and getting back into the ground once it went over them) and slid over the finish line, turning his head to Sherlock, oblivious to his win and focused solely on the joy filling the detective’s eyes. “What do people usually say?”

“You bloody bastard!” John’s door was yanked open and the crowd pulled him out of the car, cheering him. “You made it!”

Sherlock sneaked from his side of the car and kept close, trying not to attract attention to himself. Their eyes never left each other. John was vibrating with excitement and jealous of all the bodies pressed against the detective. He suddenly felt sickeningly possessive over Sherlock, clenching and unclenching his fingers as he tried to pick his way to him. His whole body was lit on fire and Sherlock was just standing there, all smart and beautiful and impossible and John felt like he could spend the rest of his days getting to know the endless chaos that was the consulting detective.

“Thank you, thanks,” he said to the crowd and sneaked between the bodies, grabbing for Sherlock. “I’ll just collect our award, okay?”

“Your award” Sherlock corrected him but John choose to ignore it and pulled the car to a more deserted area, closer to the hill and the shed. He didn’t want anyone to slow them, he was actually planning on taking Sherlock and driving as far as the car would take them. He didn’t plan the ‘after’, just the part where he took Sherlock away and kept him alive and happy, and buzzing as he was.

He was back in fifteen minutes, Sherlock already waiting in the car. John ducked in, showing him the money. The detective didn’t seem overly interested in it. He was watching John carefully, probably a little scared because his ears were burning lightly and his breath caught in his throat.

“I have an idea” John announced but Sherlock didn’t listen.

He leaned and kissed him. Soft hands caressing his face, soft lips against his and wet breath tingling his skin. John shivered, sliding his hands beneath Sherlock’s arms and tugging him closer. The kiss was chaste and slow and Sherlock trembled lightly. When he tried to slide down though and he leaned his head between John’s tights, the doctor groaned, displeased. He didn’t want it like that, nor right now, when he couldn’t completely give in to Sherlock, knowing that tomorrow Sarah would try and kiss him oblivious to his betrayal.

Sherlock backed off and returned to his seat, looking almost vulnerable for a second before he returned to his haughty detached self. John experienced some difficulties with breathing before he could say, rather belligerently, “I’ll have you know, I am not attracted to you in that way. And if we assume I _am_ , I need time adjusting to it before...”

“Oh, yes, and that thing in your pocket, it’s your dignity” Sherlock retorted, snorting to himself in disgust.

John kept quiet, deciding once and for all not the utter another _word_ – no; another _sound_ – to Sherlock Holmes, the bloody bastard. Okay, he admitted to himself that he was attracted to the detective; he was captivated the moment Sherlock opened his mouth and knew things he shouldn’t know. And then when Sherlock actually proved to be amazing in that race and helping him duck all the explosions and mines and crazy drivers – John could hardly believe they knew each other only for a day. He couldn’t also believe that Sherlock would want to kiss him – him of all people, he who was sturdy and shorter than average and old and worn off from the war and life. And Sherlock was magnificent; he was elegant, and not much but a few years younger. Bloody hell, John never even though for a creature this beautiful could exist, let alone be his.

He looked at Sherlock tentatively but kept his quiet determinately. The detective watched him with unblinking stare and the broken second John met his eyes, he felt himself getting flustered and suddenly hot. Catching a last glance of Sherlock, he could see light little smile, tugging at the corner of his mouth. And John didn’t even fight it, he smiled and drove ahead – to unknown destination – keeping annoyingly quiet and thinking over his next move. Because he needed one; he definitely needed one just to keep Sherlock occupied and around till John sorted his shit out.

So when Sherlock decided to risk it again and leaned over warily, John extended his hand and hooked it around his shoulders, keeping him close. And when Sherlock put his mouth on John’s neck and sucked lightly, he didn’t object and didn’t note that he ‘actually attracted to him this way’. After all, the _thing_ in his trousers, as Sherlock has smugly noted, wasn’t his dignity. He was apparently very happy to see him.

Happier than he has been for seeing his own girlfriend in months. Bloody hell, John Watson was about to have an identity crisis, wasn’t he?


	4. Embarassing questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Embarrassing fact: I keep body parts in my fridge. SH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta but I have tried my best at editing by myself.  
> Thank you for reading!

They drove into the night, the soft sounds of the radio filling the car. Sherlock was quiet, snuggled into John and they both kept their mouth blissfully shut. That was until a bump shook them and Sherlock’s face came into contact with John’s thigh. The doctor froze in his seat. Hands clenching the wheel, jaw held tight.

Sherlock looked at him, amused and frankly, a little scared of answer his question could ensue. “I take it then that a blowjob or a fuck is not to be expected during or after the race?”

John choked, blinking fast. “No!”

And Sherlock was looking at him again; the bare sight of him making John’s jeans tight and we’ll refrain from even mention what his deep, dirty voice did to the poor idiot. He slowed the car, because stopping would give Sherlock the chance to duck off alone to somewhere not entirely safe.

“Why did you even take me in when you saw me standing there?” Sherlock rumbled after a while and John looked at hum dubiously. “Why else would you want me around?!”

“Explain yourself.” He said when he thought Sherlock wouldn’t clear up the air before he spoke.

The detective huffed in annoyance. “What could possibly be your reason for taking me into your car and driving me around, if not for the sex? You are good enough driver to do simpler races without co-pilot so don’t sell me this shit.”

“Wait, wait, and wait!” John’s foot halted on the break. The car stopped abruptly, throwing them both forward a bit. “Back there on the road, you _thought_ someone may take you for a prostitute, but you aren’t actually a prostitute, are you?”

“No” Sherlock’s voice screeched and he looked at John as if he was faced with the world’s biggest idiot (and he may have been, thought John bitterly, when he didn’t want such a beautiful creature). “I have only been with one man and woman, John, and they didn’t tolerate me for my nice personality or bright mind. I assure you, I know my worth.”

John frowned and turned to Sherlock incredulously. “What do you mean? You are brilliant.”

“John…”

“Okay, I admit, you are not everybody’s cup of tea, but come on. Your previous partner in this – what? He fucked you as a thank you for navigating me through this death trap?”

“Yes. Well, practically, I was the one supposed to thank him, but that really doesn’t matter right now.”

“Of course it does, Sherlock! People can’t just… just use you like that.”

“I was consenting to it. Sometimes I even liked it.”

John gaped at him and Sherlock extended his arm and curled his fingers around John’s wrist, caressing him lightly. That didn’t help much as John’s clenched fists refused to uncurl. “And the woman?” he asked, restraining both his voice and body.

“Oh, she was a dreadful creature.” Sherlock smiled and raised his eyebrows. “So moronic, so stupid; but she was a dear friend of mammy’s and I didn’t dare risk it.”

“Risk it? Risk what?”

“This is rather personal, John,” the detective said. “I didn’t ask any questions about your past.”

“Only because you probably deduced it all the moment this conversation started.”

Sherlock tilted his head knowingly and reached to touch John again. His fingers carded through the doctor’s hair, still short but not as short as the time he was in the army. “Don’t worry about me,” his deep voice was soothing; he could’ve cast a spell on John and the poor bastard wouldn’t have noticed. “I am an expert in detaching myself and this” and he gestured at his body. “This is only transport.”

“Yes, okay, fine. But this” and John mimicked him gesturing at his body, stopping his hands on Sherlock’s hips, holding on tight. “This is all you know, all you have – bad experiences.”

“That’s subjective. I value experience and knowledge, not the extending pleasure, gained in acquiring them.”

John snorted, shaking his head. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock on the lips. “Well, I value you firstly for you amazing personality and secondly for your smoking hot look.”

Sherlock laughed but nodded and seemed okay with this. “Thank you.”

“I also don’t know you that well,” John added. “But I’ll get to and I still think like that.”

“We learned the worst about each other today, so that one is of the list.”

John hummed in agreement. “What’s next?” he murmured against Sherlock’s neck, snuggling into him.

“Not my area, John. How many times should I tell you? I have a dull sex experience and I tend to consider myself married to my work.” Sherlock huffed but his hands were on John – caressing his tense back and carding through his golden hair.

“Okay, I’ll pick then.” A light kiss was sealed on Sherlock’s neck and then another and one more. Dozens of little kisses spilled over Sherlock’s neck; sensual pecks and little nibbles, a hint of teeth and the wet feel of tongue, making him pliant and soft. “Embarrassing facts or secrets,” he murmured before occupying his mouth rather thoroughly with sucking a bright blue bruise on Sherlock’s neck.

“Oh, really?” The detective smiled, his hand on the back of John’s head, pushing him into the sucking sensation. “Okay, I’ll deduce them while you do your sucking.”

John snorted loudly and bit him, making Sherlock wriggle in pain and pleasure. “I would like to hear that.”

“Well then, you will have the chance when you see me again tomorrow.”

John smiled against his neck and licked a long wet stripe of milky skin. Sherlock hummed quietly.

“I’ll take you home now, detective. And I’ll meet you again tomorrow at noon.”

“Okay,” Sherlock agreed easily. “The address is 221B Baker Street. And my number is already in your mobile.”

 

* * *

 

Later John pulled out his phone and scrolled through his Address Book. He intentionally didn’t jump to S. He took his time finding the number and clicking for sending a text message. He hadn’t planned what to say, he just wanted to converse with Sherlock and he has already started with some moronic little joke to annoy the man when it hit him. And he typed, hastily.

_02:48:43 am_

_Why did you wait for me outside Mike’s today?_

_02:48:59 am_

_I found you fascinating. SH_

_02:53:10 am_

_Did you do it because you thought I’d tolerate you? Did you think I would be like the other two?_

_03:10:22 am_

_At first I did. SH_

_03:12:25 am_

_I risked it. It’s not every day someone interesting is willing to talk to me. SH_

_03:30:45_

_I know better now. SH_

_03:33:58_

_Embarrassing fact: I keep body parts in my fridge. SH_

_04:20:19 am_

_John? SH_


	5. On serious matters and coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am trying to have a serious conversation here. Stop smiling.”

Baker Street was relatively empty and unusually quiet when John pulled to 221B and texted Sherlock.

_07:23:33 pm_

_I’m here._

_07:23:40 pm_

_I know. I can see you out the window. SH_

The car was parked just outside the flat, people walking by, Speedy’s clientele getting in and out of the café, some old ladies hushing by the neat bushes.

Sherlock came out of the flat in s flurry of coat tails and ember curls. He stopped by the old ladies, saying something to the cheeky-looking one with hazelnut hair. He then dropped a kiss on her cheek and winked before ducking into the car.

“Hello, John,” he said cheerfully, still unacquainted with John’s sour look.

“Hi. Hi, Sherlock,” the doctor mumbled and didn’t let the other man kiss him, ditching out of the way. “We need to talk.”

“Okay, go ahead, talk.” It is useless to say: Sherlock wasn’t pleased with him and John huffed with annoyance. He didn’t dare let go on the wheel, steering the car down to the the main road.

“No like that and not here.” He cleared his throat and looked at Sherlock sheepishly. “Do you fancy a drink?”

“You are driving, John, not a good idea.”

John breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, counting in his head. “We can have a coffee. I didn’t say alcohol.”

Sherlock wanted to say ‘but you heavily implied it’ but kept his quiet for another second and the said, “Okay. Drive.”

John drove to a pub half a dozen blocks away and parked the car in a nearby parking. He was driving the racing car again. Sherlock firstly deduced the doctor had another one – one to use with Sarah, but studying the man better, he decided that no, John only drove this car and obvious by his shoes and the stains on his trousers, he took the subway on regular days.

They sat in relative silence, none of them daring break the palpable tension between them. John’s stomach has sunk and his brain unhelpfully kept him heavily stocked with Sherlock-related fantasies. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“I make you uncomfortable.” Sherlock said at last.

John looked at him and for all things in the world, he smiled. “Embarrassing fact: Sarah tried to have sex with me last night and because I was thinking of _you_ , I couldn’t even feign an interest.”

“Is Sarah you girlfriend?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know, Sherlock. I am serious here.” John looked hopefully to the bar and wished he could change his coffee for a pint.

The detective nodded but kept quiet.

The pub was starting to fill; groups of people coming in and out in waves of motion; glasses clicking, voices booming in the small space. John looked at them, thinking when the last time he had a good time in a pub was. It wasn’t as Sarah ever came out with him alone to places like this. She thought it extremely dangerous, with all this drunks and random people and John would’ve lied if he said that this didn’t hurt his ego. And he wasn’t having spectacular time now as well. Sherlock was staring at him and when John looked back his unearthly eyes dilated the smallest bit.

“Let’s go and just drive” the detective said eventually. “It will calm you down.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do that.”

And John drove. He drove off out of the city and off the main roads, pointing the car in whatever direction and into the trees alongside the lonely road they turned out on. Keeping his quiet, he stopped the car near some bushes and drummed at the wheel. Sherlock looked doubtful about the setting but was eager to get out of the car and onto John, so he shut his big mouth up and restrained any biting comments and deductions about the area.

Sherlock choose to pretend not even noticing when John got out of the car and circled it, yanking open his door, pulling him out by the lapels of his coat. Their mouths ware on each other in a second and Sherlock’s sharp intake of breath only made the ringing silence deeper. John whimpered when he felt his lower lip being bitten, operating Sherlock from the open door to the front of the car, pushing him against the bonnet. A loud gasp leaved his lungs and the detective looked at John with wide blown eyes.

John Watson was a nice, quiet man with good nature and mild temper. By default he shouldn’t have been aggressive, but he was, wasn’t he? Sherlock smiled to himself as John got to his (long, slender and hardly easily operational) legs, wrapping fingers on his tights and spreading them dreadfully slow. Sherlock didn’t have the patience: he navigated John’s hands slowly enough so the doctor didn’t have to notice he’s being handled rather impolitely, and wrapped his legs around John’s waist, driving the other man impossibly close. So close that their bodies were flushed together and John’s involuntary thrusts almost lifted Sherlock’s light body of the car.

He pushed him over the bonnet with one final shove and Sherlock leaned back gracefully. His hands held John’s face close, his head tilted in the wanted direction. The doctor trusted up against him once more, keeping the other man’s legs around his waist with firm but gentle hand. Sherlock smiled into his neck, the rhythm of his kisses slowing down, and rubbed on his chest, unabashed.

“We should really get back in the car” he said into John’s ear and the doctor shivered with excitement. Sherlock’s mouthed at his ear, purring lightly; his nails dragging down John’s back underneath his leather jacket.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” he murmured, guilt heaving on his mind. He didn’t just _want_ this; he _needed_ it and probably the plain want should’ve been a sign bright enough, but the need was making him dizzy with doubt and desire and guilt and _bloody Sherlock_.

“You needn’t be sorry, John” his deep voice hushed and wet breath ghosted on John’s neck and under his jaw, slow and sexy. “I am used to it. It’s okay.” The doctor tried to pull back and tried to convince himself that it was Sherlock who tugged him back indecently close to the other man but it was just him – John – bored simple John who finally found something exciting and couldn’t get a grip of his own mind.

“Yes, I do.” Pulling back again, John dropped Sherlock’s legs entirely and stepped out of reach. “I have a… _girlfriend_ , Sherlock, and this” he gestured between the two of them. “This is wrong and it is very indecent.”

“Well, first, you _may_ have your girl-acquaintance” he spat the word and John winced uncomfortably because they were discussing serious matters but he felt like grinning widely and like kissing Sherlock silent. “But you lie to her and she is boring, I can tell because I am actually smart and not an idiot…”

“Oh, you are an idiot alright” John murmured and bit his lip to fight off his giddy smile. Sherlock was a ridiculous man and John’s stupid, besotted smile didn’t want to leave his face even for a minute. Like a sodding teenager, he had to fight off an admiring smile for Sherlock’s (well, it wasn’t cuteness in the ordinary way but it was a close call) and his stupid, stupid brilliance.

“I am trying to have a serious conversation here” Sherlock hushed and angrily gathered himself. “Stop smiling.”

“Continue.” John nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. Every thought in his head was _SherlockSherlockSherlock_ when it should’ve been Sarah and their future and these awful new drapes she wanted.

Sherlock nodded and continued his speech as John hadn’t interrupted him. “And second, you like me better – it’s obvious by the fact that you can barely even stay away from me physically and you fight it still. And that is understandable: it is something you can control and something you choose to do, so you see it as cheating, as betrayal. But you can’t stop smiling, you can’t stop leaning into me, you are subconsciously drawn to me and you are already way ahead of yourself about me, and this – _this_ – it’s something you can’t control, it’s something that just happens and you are feeling guilty but you are also fine with it. Why? Because it is emotion and attachment and you can’t control emotion; emotion always is the best weapon and the filthiest of all lies. But you ordinary people love it, you are fine with it. Why again? Because you just are, you know you’d prefer me over her any day, no matter how well you know me. And you hate you life and you want a change, you need it now, before you end yourself – although I can’t decide, will you do it in a race or with that illegal handgun, your fingers twitch for. So call her, break it up and let’s go. It’s obvious you are bored with your life and you want some danger and excitement. I can give you that. I can give you much, much more. Plus I won’t stop you from doing racing. Or from whatever it is that makes your blood boil as long as you don’t turn suicidal.” He didn’t even stop for a breath. He delivered the speech detached and cold to the outside world but through his eyes, John saw enough, saw the detective all agog to hear if he was right, to take John’s confirmation and rip his life apart.

But there always was a ‘but’. It was obvious to Sherlock alright; it was signed, sealed and delivered but John was still processing it. There were too many things obvious to Sherlock that John and ordinary people in general couldn’t even start to understand.

“Listen, I don’t know you and yes, you are smart, and you are beautiful – god, are you beautiful, but I can’t just flip my life around like that, not for someone I have just met.” John stepped closer for fucks know what bloody reason and held Sherlock’s face in his hands gently. The detective frowned at him and John kissed lightly at his frowning mouth till Sherlock smiled tentatively at him. “Let me talk to Sarah. I will lie if I say I wasn’t just settling, not loving her and I do want you, but not like that, not in a car on the side of the road and not once or twice. Sarah certainly deserves better and you do too. People like you don’t come around every day, Sherlock. And I am not willing to let go of my catch.”

“Is that so?” Sherlock smiled and tilted his head. “It’s okay; I have heard more idiotic lines to try and reason me into sex. It’s true – they did try the opposite; they wanted me in their car on the side of the road – but you have a point. I don’t want any other men or women around you either.”

“I thought you were married to your work” John teased lightly and lifted Sherlock face to his mouth before the detective could bite back. Well, as we say ‘bite back’, he did bite John’s lower lip; only in the purely literal way, not with the figurative line he was about to deliver. John smiled and pulled back slowly.

“What now?” Sherlock asked out of the blue and the doctor laughed.

“I have no idea.” He leaned over the bonnet, stretching next to Sherlock. “I can’t go back to Sarah now. She’ll know in the minute I step inside. I am too buzzing and… I don’t know. I am not my usual self and I can’t talk to her in this state.”

“Come to my place” the detective offered. “In a friendly way, John,” he mused seeing John was opening his mouth to object. “It will be completely innocent and uneventful.”

“Are you sure?” John’s smile was impish. “Could you stay away with my rigid…?”

Sherlock snickered and leaned over, straddling John over the bonnet and digging his fingers in his shoulders. The doctor let out a deep breath and relaxed visibly under the faint massaging. Sherlock moved his lower body slowly, feeling John getting hard again and rubbing on his tight. It went like that for a while; his methodical movements making John plaint and quieting his buzzing, tired brain.

“Stop it,” the doctor murmured while both his hands found their way to Sherlock’s backside and grabbed for purchase. “We are pitiful people, you and me,” he looked and sounded like he was talking to himself. No the less, Sherlock hummed in agreement and smiled in John’s hair when he ducked for one last deep hot kiss. John fucked his mouth in earnest, flicking his tongue between Sherlock’s lips and bucked beneath him, rubbing his erection in the detective’s tight.

“You are getting close,” Sherlock informed him once his mouth was free. He looked debauched and painfully beautiful, John decided and he also decided that he needed to do some serious thinking about what he wanted and what he needed and what wasn’t going to end in blood rather than – ah, he bloody didn’t care, did he? The moment he thought about ending in blood he knew he doesn’t mind as long as it was Sherlock next to him. And they have known each other a day.

John puffed out his breath and smiled at Sherlock. “Please, Sherlock, I don’t want this to turn out as a dirty affair. Keep it together.”

Sherlock almost did look like he was going to apologize and then he climbed down from the car, pulling John by the hips and nodding imperiously towards the driver’s door. “Will you let me?” he asked, flipping curls off his forehead and watching John under his eyelashes. He suited up with his disarming wet eyes when he clarified, “Drive, I mean. Will you let me drive the way back?”

“You will willingly drive me back to Mike’s?”

“Why to Mike’s?” Sherlock studied him for a second and then blinked and nodded in understanding. “You are not coming at my place tonight.”

John snickered, catching the innuendo, but shook his head and caressed Sherlock’s arm. “Sorry. Too tempting.”

“What?”

“What _what_?” John stood and walked to the passenger’s door, bowing his head to get in the car. Sherlock only huffed for repeating.

“What’s too tempting?” he clarified as he took his place and turned on the engine. The car purred and John smiled, watching Sherlock operate it as his own – paying attention and touching confidently.

“You,” he said then and Sherlock stopped in his haste suddenly. He was pink from the curve of his ears to the nape of his throat. John’s smile only got wider, turning into a legit grin and he squirmed on his seat, feeling giddy with pleasure. “Are you nervous?” he asked, not believing for a second that Sherlock could ever be nervous; especially about his looks.

“Not my area, I told you. Bit unusual to be complemented like that.”

The doctor brushed one of his cheekbones with his finger, burying his hand in the mop of black curls. “You are right,” he added as an afterthought once they were back on the main road. “People _are_ idiots.”


	6. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breathe. Just do that with me for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

Mike’s was a bad idea.

John realized that the moment Sherlock pulled in the garage and flicked his knowing eyes over the windows. “It’s empty” he muttered at some point and it was all John could do not to laugh.

“It wasn’t supposed to be” he said as calm as he could muster. “He was supposed to be home and take me away from you. Fuck.”

“I’ll drop you at Sarah’s and then I’ll leave the car back here” Sherlock said it as if this was the plan all along. “Don’t worry.”

“No. I am not taking you there…”

“We’ll technically; I am taking you as I am dri-…”

“Oh, for god sakes,” the doctor left the car with a wild bang. “I don’t want you to go, which is the problem. And I needed Mike to tear me away, to remind me that Sarah… Sarah! Do you know she doesn’t even look at me lately? And I am here, feeling guilty.” He huffed and gritted his teeth. “And I don’t want you near her because if you see her you’ll know everything and I’ll have to ask and I’m scared of the answer.”

“Do you think she may be cheating on you? Is this what it is all about?” Sherlock got out of the car immediately. He laid his back against the closed door and John came closer. “You think she may be cheating so you are pressed to cheat too. Really immature, John” Sherlock informed him, sounding highly displeased and almost certainly feeling used rather than cherished by all John’s interest in him. And that did it. John shacked himself, breathing in and out – slow and methodical, and when he looked at Sherlock, he didn’t fight the monster in his gut, telling him to devour the detective, to take him – fast and raw and fucking now and no, Sarah. He breathed and smiled tentatively.

“I’m a mess. And no, I don’t think she is cheating, she is too good for that.”

“You are not?”

“No, I am. We are not cheating; we are not doing anything before I have the chance to talk to her and even after that. I want to know you, not just fuck you.”

“I can see that” Sherlock looked around and found a half-empty whiskey bottle that probably served as Mike’s distraction from time to time. He offered it to John and the soldier drank a generous gulp. “Easy there,” Sherlock took the bottle away and slipped a hand around John’s neck. “Listen to me now. You go in and have a good sleep. Tomorrow you think about everything and then you call either me or Sarah and you end it. Then, you start thinking again – and I know it’s hard for your little brain to do so much thinking but bear with me here – you decide if any of us is worth it. You know her and you fall for me, so I guess, you don’t like her that much anymore. But you don’t know me and I need you to think well about going further because later it is going to get real hard for us to…”

John laughed and shook his head, leaning his forehead against Sherlock’s. He closed his eyes and breathed steadily. “Shut up” he said and kissed his nose. “You are talking shit now.”

“No, we are just mingling around a dozen conversations into one not very tidy one.”

John smiled. “Breathe. Just do that with me for a while.”

“I am breathing,” Sherlock mussed and wriggled, getting his hands on John’s back.

“First conversation: you and Sarah. I am breaking up with her. And I am getting it on with you.”

“Good. I like when we have such productive dialog.”

John hummed and swayed a little, touching his legs to Sherlock. “Second, my brain is not that small. I am just highly confused.” Sherlock didn’t replay and John kissed his cheek lightly. “Third, I want to fuck you senseless tonight.”

“Not a good idea.”

“Shush.” The doctor swayed them both and Sherlock found himself against a cold wall, his legs suggestively open around John’s waist. “But I am not because I want a proper bed and time and to be just me and you and no girlfriends and not in the car. You are too long for that.”

“Speaking from experience, I am.”

“So you have done it? With the other one?”

“Yes.”

John lifted his head and looked Sherlock in the eye. He then moved forward and kissed him again. “Forth, I want to know everything about him.”

“No, you don’t.”

John shook his head. “I want but I’m not going to force you into it. Give it a thought though, I won’t judge or accuse you and I think you need to have it out, it will be good for you – and for us.” Sherlock just looked at him. John took it as an invitation to continue and said plainly, “And fifth, you need to go now.”

“Yes, okay. There is a race tomorrow, we should go. It’s good money and an easy layout.”

“How come?” Rarely good money and easy layout came in together.

Sherlock smirked and plastered one last kiss on John’s mouth before leaving. “You are good driver and I am a genius navigator. That’s how.”


End file.
